Fridays at the Purple Unicorn
by icicle33
Summary: Hermione and Ginny have a Girl's Night Out at the Purple Unicorn. Hermione is surprised when she runs into a much changed Pansy Parkinson. "That girl can do more with one finger than most men can do with their dicks." Features: Hermione/Pansy. Pansy/Lavender. Past Pansy/Ginny. Post-War. Femslash. Infidelity. Dirty Talk. Smut. Jealousy. Slytherin Schemes. Written for Femmefest.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Fridays at the Purple Unicorn (1/2)

 **Author:** icicle33

 **Rating:** T for this chapter but eventually M

 **Pairing(s):** Pansy/Hermione, past Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Lavender, Hermione/Ron

 **Summary:** Hermione and Ginny have a girl's night out at the Purple Unicorn. Hermione is surprised when she runs into a much changed Pansy Parkinson. " _That girl can do more with one finger than most men can do with their dicks."_

 **Warnings:** Post-War, infidelity, mentions of unfulfilling het sex, explicit sex and use of sex toys, some slight Ron bashing that wasn't intentional because I love Ron as a character but was necessary for the story. I just don't think he makes a good match with Hermione.

 **Word Count:** ~10K

 **Author's Notes:** This story was written for the lovely **thusspakekate** for the hp femmefest exchange on lj several years ago. I just never got around to posting it here. It is complete and will be posted in two parts.

Originally, this fic was supposed to be a short PWP between Hermione and Pansy, but it morphed into a Hermione character study that pushes her to explore her sexuality instead. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

 _"No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor."_

—Betty Friedan

 **x o x o**

Hermione stood at the entrance of the Purple Unicorn, a new bar that Ginny had raved about for the past month. She clutched her silver purse to her chest and frowned, shifting her balance to her left foot in an attempt to relieve the pressure her 4-inch heels were already causing her toes.

The queue moved at the pace of a lazy Flobberworm—and being ogled by sweaty men at some sleazy bar was not her idea of a pleasurable evening. Ginny had pushed her into coming tonight, promising a fun time, but Ginny didn't understand that Hermione preferred to spend her Friday nights at home, where her feet weren't mutilated by strappy shoes from hell (no matter how cute they were) and she didn't have to wait half an hour for one _bloody_ drink at the bar. Or wait in an endless queue.

She played with the thin strap of her red dress — technically, Ginny's red dress — rubbing it absently between her fingertips and then surveyed the building and people around her. She couldn't believe that people waited in queue for _this_. At least from the outside, the Purple Unicorn didn't seem like anything special. The grey stone exterior was cracked and unkempt; the pavement in front of the building was filthy — covered in broken glass and crushed cigarette butts — even the windows were an eyesore, blacked-out with purple velvet curtains. Who would ever think that purple velvet was an acceptable decor? The only attractive detail was the welcome sign, Purple Unicorn written in flashing rainbow cursive above the door.

When Hermione lost interest in the lettering, she turned to Ginny, who was hovering beside her. "If we're not inside in the next five minutes...I'm leaving."

"Stop sulking, Hermione. You promised to come out tonight and at least _try_ to relax and have a good time." She prodded Hermione in the back with her purse and snorted. "I know that it's a difficult concept for you...but think about my stupid brothers and all the trouble they're getting into tonight. You shouldn't sit home waiting for Ron."

Hermione tightened the grip on her purse and huffed, raising her chin and turning away from Ginny. "That's a rather crude thing to say, Ginevra. I'm perfectly capable of a having a good time. And Ron's on a business trip." She narrowed her eyes, exasperated. "You know that. He's not out having if he is out socialising tonight, it's _only_ for business. He has a lot on his plate with George—"

"If you really believe that...then you're not the brilliant witch that everyone—"

Ginny didn't finish her thought because one of the scantily clad girls behind them slammed into her shoulder, almost knocking her over.

"Hey, watch it!" Ginny's voice was menacing and her fingers were already clutched around her wand. Even in a skimpy black dress and boots Ginny was a force to be reckoned with.

The scantily clad blonde girl turned around and sneered. "Why don't you watch—" When she made eye contact with Ginny, she let out a high-pitched squeal, her expression changing to delight and admiration. "Oh my god, you're Ginny Weasley! You play for the Harpies."

Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest, a smug look on her face. "That's right. And I don't appreciate—"

The blonde girl squealed again. "I'm incredibly sorry. I didn't mean to almost trample you." Her pale cheeks darkened. "This is so embarrassing. I was only trying to get to my friend. I know the bouncer and he just came outside."

Both Ginny and Hermione snapped their heads towards the door. A burly sour-faced bloke, dressed in black from head to toe except for his grey combat boots, leant against the glass door, holding it open.

"So you're a big Quidditch fan?" Ginny asked.

The blonde girl nodded vigorously. "Absolutely! Who doesn't like Quidditch? And the Harpies they're—"

Ginny smiled and swatted the blonde girl's arm. "Isn't that nice? How about you get me and my friend inside and I'll hook you up with an autograph?"

"Anything for Ginny Weasley from the Harpies!"

 **x o x o**

Hermione and Ginny sat at the bar, nursing their third round of drinks. The bar stools swivelled and Hermione had to admit that it might have been worth it to come out tonight just for these chairs, even if she were afraid that people could see up her dress. She didn't know if it was the alcohol getting to her or if she was _actually_ having a good time, but the Purple Unicorn's unique charm appeared to grow on her. Or at least its strong cocktails did.

Whirling around on her chair — for what was probably the hundredth time in the last hour — she laughed and elbowed Ginny in her side. "I can't believe you brought me to a _gay_ bar. Of all places."

Ginny took another sip of her Purple Pixie cocktail. She'd already tried the Green Ghoul and Frisky Fiend. So far, she liked the Purple Pixie best. "I like gay bars," she said, shrugging. "It's the perfect bar. Where else can you ogle gorgeous blokes and not worry about them chatting you up?"

Hermione nodded. "You have a point. And the women are quite beautiful too." She turned her gaze to the crowded dance floor and smiled, studying all the bouncing figures. "They seem so free, positively chuffed, without having to worry about sleazy bastards groping your arse as you walk by like the last time I went..."

"If you only knew—"

Ginny muttered into her drink and was perhaps even ordering another round, but Hermione missed whatever else she said. Her attention was drawn elsewhere. Twirling in the centre of the dance floor were the last two people she ever imagined seeing: Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.

She hadn't seen the pair in years, not since Malfoy's trial, which was seven years prior. The only knowledge she had about their whereabouts was through overheard office gossip. Supposedly, Malfoy dropped his bachelor lifestyle of partying through Europe and had recently become engaged to Astoria Greengrass. And Parkinson —Hermione couldn't recall hearing anything about Parkinson — but if the size of the rock on her finger were any indication, she was married to some wealthy, pureblood wizard.

Some wealthy, pureblood wizard who was _not_ Draco Malfoy and she assumed he'd be quite livid to see his wife draped over another man. Oh, well. It wasn't _her_ problem that Parkinson and Malfoy were a couple of slags. They deserved each other, but even so, she couldn't look away from their dancing, as if mesmerized by their lithe forms.

Watching Malfoy grind against Parkinson, Hermione wondered if the rumours were true. Apparently, the former childhood sweethearts were once again enamoured with each other. How disgusting. She knew that both Greengrass sisters had been part of Parkinson's clique at school, and here Parkinson was betraying one of her oldest friends. Some people had no qualms about the sanctity of marriage.

"Can you _believe_ them?"

"What are you talking about?"

Hermione scrunched her nose and motioned to the dance floor, nudging her hand towards the dancing Slytherins. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Oh, _them_. They come here all the time." Ginny tilted her head to the side, trying to get a better view.

"Some nerve they have. It's one thing to have an affair, but quite another to rub it in—"

Ginny gave her a blank look. "Affair?"

"Yes, Parkinson and Malfoy. I don't know the details, but Parkinson is _clearly_ married. Just look at the rock!" Hermione narrowed her eyes and hoped she sounded appalled rather than envious. In truth, she was a bit of both. She'd been married for seven years and was still waiting for her engagement ring from Ron. "And I know for a fact she's _not_ Mrs Malfoy."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "Malfoy is bent. Queerer than Finch-Fletchley's scarring Celestina Warbeck impersonations. They are certainly not having an affair with _each other_." Ginny rolled her eyes and chuckled as if the idea of Malfoy and Parkinson having an affair was the most preposterous thing she'd ever heard.

"Actually, Pansy prefers women. Kind of funny how that worked out."

" _What_?"

"Don't tell me you didn't know?"

"I didn't—"

"Pansy, I can understand. It's a well-kept secret. _For the most part_. I think she likes blokes too...but prefers the challenge that women give her. The chance to be the hunter instead of the prey." Ginny shook her head, her wild curls whipping around her face. "But...Malfoy... _straight_? Look at those trousers. What straight bloke would be caught dead in those trousers?"

Hermione turned her attention to Malfoy's trousers. So far, she'd been too focused on Parkinson and how absurdly long her legs looked in those turquoise sequin hot pants to notice anything else. But Merlin's Beard silver trousers!

Malfoy sported silver trousers that were so tight they left nothing to the imagination and the sleeves of his black shirt were sheer. Ginny was right. No straight bloke would ever wear those trousers. If she had doubts before, they disappeared. It turned out that Parkinson was a cow with incredibly great legs and shiny hair. But _not_ a cheater.

 _Even Slytherins are faithful to their spouses_ , a traitorous voice in the back of her mind taunted. _It's only you who can't make your marriage work. Can't keep your husband interested_.

 _No, that's just the alcohol talking._

Hermione shook the negative thoughts from her mind. Tonight was about having fun, letting loose, not worrying about Ron and their failing marriage.

She forced a smile on her face and looked away from the dance floor. "I suppose you're right. I hope Astoria knows."

"It's not that uncommon in pureblood circles," Ginny explained. "I'm sure she does. Just like Armand knows."

"Who's Armand?"

"My husband, Armand Mathieu," a silky voice said from behind them.

Hermione spun around in her chair and came face to face with Parkinson. Her dark eyes were unnerving, boring into Hermione and sizing her up.

"Pansy, hi!" Ginny greeted Parkinson with a friendly smile. "What are you doing here?"

Parkinson shrugged. "I heard my name. I have this knack to know when people are talking about me."

Ginny laughed and Hermione continued to feel uncomfortable. Parkinson's lips were quirked into a half-smirk, but her voice held no malice. It was strange seeing that expression on her face, especially since her eyes kept wandering towards Hermione's chest.

"Hermione was just admiring your ring. Nothing bad."

Pansy laughed. "I doubt that but thank you." She lifted her left hand and showed off her ring. The diamond looked enormous on her petite hand, almost as if it were weighing her down. "Armand spoils me. You know how _husbands_ are."

The comment seemed harmless, but Hermione was astute, she knew how Slytherins worked. It was a veiled insult.

Pansy glanced at Hermione's empty ring finger and then smirked. "That's quite a dress, Granger." She looked down the neckline of Hermione's dress again, not even trying to disguise her shameless ogling. "Shame your husband isn't here to see it. If I were him, I wouldn't let you out looking like that." A lewd, devious smile crossed her lips. "Someone else might try to snatch you away."

Hermione blushed. Did Parkinson just give her a compliment?

"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"I'm sure you are." Parkinson took a step towards Hermione, reaching out to touch her hair, wrapping a stray curl around her finger. Hermione's breath hitched. It was unnerving to have Pansy so close.

"I was wrong," Pansy said, voice deep and sultry. "I never should have mocked your hair in school. It's not a flea-ridden, mangy rat's nest at all." She wound the curl tighter, her eyes wide and unblinking. "Sure, it's wild and untameable, but it _suits_ you."

The heated look that Parkinson gave her was disconcerting. The flush from her cheeks spread down to her neck and chest, her heart fluttering. How strange. Hermione had never been this bothered from a mere look. What was Pansy playing at?

Ginny cleared her throat, breaking the heavy tension. "You're making a girl feel self-conscious."

Parkinson turned her gaze away from Hermione and then focused on Ginny. She ogled her too and then squeezed her thigh. "You already know how gorgeous you are, Weasley. You don't need reminding."

Ginny and Pansy shared a coy look that made Hermione suspicious. She'd have to ask Ginny about it later.

"It's true. Her head is already big enough." Hermione lifted her hands up to her ears, shaking them in mock excitement. " _Anything for Ginny Weasley from the Harpies_!"

Parkinson started to laugh and Ginny scowled.

"Not funny."

" _I don't know_." Pansy spoke slowly, drawing out each word. "I hear the Ginny Weasley fan club is giving the Potter fan club a run for their money. You'll _have_ to hook me up with tickets one day."

"Only if you're nice to me."

"I'm _always_ nice." Pansy smirked and then addressed the bartender. "Howard, the next round of drinks for these ladies is on me. Put it on my tab." She ran a hand through her hair and then snapped her head towards the far corner of the room. Her eyes lit up as if she were a child who spotted a new toy she wanted. "If you'll excuse me, there's somewhere I need to be."

Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the crowd.

"That was random," Hermione said after Parkinson was long gone.

"Nah, that's just Pansy. I told you she's not so bad once you get to know her. A little rough around the edges." Ginny shrugged. "But at least she isn't boring."

Hermione wasn't convinced but changed the subject. "Her husband...she said his name was Armand Mathieu. He's not the French Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic is he?"

"Maybe," Ginny replied, her forehead furrowed. "All I know is that he's important and _always_ busy. He knows that Pansy prefers women and likes to spend her nights drinking and shamelessly chatting up every pretty witch in town." She paused, gulping down the last sip of her purple drink. "But they have an arrangement of some sort. He keeps the guise of having a beautiful, young witch on his arm for his Ministry affairs or whenever he calls, and she has a rich, powerful husband, who pays for her posh lifestyle and essentially lets her do whatever she pleases the rest of the time."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Even in her alcohol-addled state, this had to be the most degrading arrangement she'd ever heard.

"That's...that's—" She struggled to find the right word, a sentiment that was appalling enough. "That's _illegal_."

"Not if they sign a contract."

Hermione stared at Ginny, blinking rapidly. "A contract? She actually signed a contract saying that she agreed to be his...his _plaything_. Basically a pampered pet?" She glowered, surprised at how much the idea of Parkinson belonging to some French Ministry bigot angered her.

"It's not like that. I've talked to her." Ginny exhaled a dramatic sigh. "It's complicated. She didn't have a choice. Her family needed her to marry someone and this was her best option. Armand gives her space and takes care of her sister and mum too. Her father was killed in the war."

Parkinson's family. Slytherins were always loyal to their own. Hermione hadn't factored that into the marriage equation. In a way, it made her respect Pansy. Hermione would do anything to protect her family. She'd already proven that during the war, but the idea that she had to copulate even briefly with a wizard that ancient was nauseating.

For once, she gave thanks for her own marriage. No matter how dysfunctional it was, at least it wasn't arranged. She had chosen it.

"I _suppose_ I can understand wanting to take care of your family," she said, after a long pause. "But there must be another way. Another way besides marrying a bloke who is more than 40 years her senior."

"That's what I said." Ginny gave a small chuckle. "She just shrugged and said, 'the older the better. That way, he'll want less sex and die faster.'"

Hermione tried to fight her grin. "That's one way to look at it."

"Trust me, if she's suffering she hides it well. I hear Pansy's here every ladies night and fucks 2-3 girls a night."

Hermione started coughing and sputtered the last sip of her drink.

Ginny laughed again and mock patted Hermione on the back. "There, there. No use wasting perfectly good alcohol." She grabbed both her own and Hermione's empty glasses and pushed them towards the bar. "Hey Mr Barman," she said, winking at him suggestively, "we need two more of your finest drinks. Remember to put them on Pansy's tab."

The bartender, whom Hermione later found out was named Henry not Howard, smiled. "What would you ladies like?" He shot Ginny an indulgent grin. "Or should I surprise you?'

Both girls turned to each other and in unison said, "Surprise us."

Henry gave a little bow and within seconds two pink glowing cocktails were placed in front of them. "I give you the Pink Panty Dropper. The newest house special."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have found such a crudely titled drink offensive. But since this was cocktail number four for her and Merlin knows how many for Ginny, she found the glowing drink amusing instead. After clinking her oversized martini glass against Ginny's, she took a large sip, downing half the drink in one gulp.

Mmmm, the cocktail was fruity and tart with notes of raspberry and citrus. Although sweet, the Pink Panty Dropper contained a decent amount of alcohol. The burn down her throat was almost as intense as drinking firewhiskey.

Once she regained feeling in her throat, she turned to Ginny. "You were lying about Parkinson, right?"

Hermione didn't understand why the subject of Pansy's love life was suddenly so important to her. But she _needed_ answers.

Ginny looked up from her drink. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused, the alcohol finally hitting her hard. Hermione knew she had to take advantage of the situation and ask Ginny questions. "I'm not lying. Where do you think she went? She's probably off chatting up some pretty witch right now."

Hermione searched the room for a familiar shiny head of black hair. For a moment, Hermione's stomach plummeted as she thought Parkinson had left, but then she spotted her in the far corner, leaning against what appeared to be a replica of a Muggle jukebox, talking to a curvy blonde, Lavender Brown.

"You're wrong. She's only talking to Lavender." Hermione shot Ginny a triumphant smile. "Everyone knows Lavender is married to Seamus. They have three boys for Merlin's sake."

Ginny scoffed. "Like that would stop her." She swivelled around in her chair too quickly, which Hermione deducted from the slightly green look on her face. "Help me out, Harvey. Tell Miss Know-it-all that Pansy will go after any witch in her line of sight."

The bartender nodded. "It's Henry not Harvey."

"In fact—Pansy prefers to go after straight women. It's more of a challenge to her. Gay women just fall at her feet without her even trying."

Hermione gave her a sceptical look.

"You don't understand. _No one_ rejects Pansy. Any witch that Pansy wants, whether gay, straight, married, in a committed relationship, or single Parkinson gets. And I'm not exaggerating." She turned to Henry, who was now actively listening to their conversation. "Have you ever seen her get turned down?"

Henry shook his head. "Never. That girl has game." He had an awed look on his face.

"I told you. They even call her The Pussy Whisperer. She's a legend."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Pansy-The-Pussy-Whisperer. Now I know you're taking the piss."

Ginny sighed. "Okay, fine. I made up the nickname—"

"The Pussy Whisperer?" Hermione mouthed, clearly scandalised. "What were you thinking, Gin? That's horrid. And tasteless."

She leant in closer to Hermione, brushing her lips against Hermione's hair. "Shhh...I'm a bit pissed. But I'm _not_ wrong. Just watch her with Lavender. She always has the same plan."

Hermione wanted to object again but decided to give Ginny's argument a chance. If anything, sloshed Ginny was always hilarious. It also gave her an excuse to stare at Pansy. There was something fascinating about that girl.

"First, she'll compliment Lavender's hair or perfume, so she can lean in closer."

Both Ginny and Hermione stared at the two women in the corner. They watched as Pansy had leant in closer to Lavender and inhaled the scent of her neck.

Hermione scowled. "That proves nothing! You were just leaning over me. Does that mean you're trying to get me in bed?"

"This is different, Hermione. Every single one of Parkinson's steps of seductions are carefully implemented. Next, she's—"

"I _don't_ believe you. Lavender would never betray Seamus. She loves him."

"Someone's a little touchy." She smirked. "I think you're jealous. I saw the way you were looking at Pansy earlier, undressing her with your eyes."

"That's absurd! I wasn't—I don't even." Hermione took a breath, composing herself. "I'm a _married_ woman."

"I think you're lying. But I'll drop it for now." Ginny smirked again, this time raising an eyebrow. "Wanna make a little wager?"

Hermione didn't bet. Gambling was stupid. In fact, she always lectured Ronald about betting on Quidditch matches. But before she could stop herself, she said, "20 Galleons that Lavender rejects her."

Ginny held out her hand and Hermione grasped it, shaking it firmly. "Challenge accepted." There was a devious glint in her eyes. "Not only will she not reject Pansy. Lavender will go home with her. Rumour has it that Seamus is more interested in his liquor than his wife these days."

"We'll see."

"Oh, _it'll_ happen. I just hope you won't be too disappointed when she leaves without you."

"Shut up."

Hermione felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She turned back to watch Parkinson and Lavender, hoping that Ginny wouldn't notice. She tried not to be annoyed when she realised that Parkinson had one hand wrapped in Lavender's waves, wide smiles present on both their faces. _Bollocks._ Could Ginny be right? Did she find Pansy attractive?

"This may be the easiest bet I've ever won." Ginny clasped her hands, rubbing her fingers together. "Soon, she'll lean in again and start whispering dirty thoughts in her ear."

Hermione huffed but didn't comment.

They continued to watch the flirtation and just as Ginny predicted Parkinson started whispering in Lavender's ear. Hermione had no idea what she said, but it must have been dirty or at least scandalous since Lavender started to blush.

"Fine. I'll _indulge_ you. What do you think she's saying, Gin?"

"Well...she's most likely complimenting Lavender but also insulting Seamus, saying that how did a waste of space like Finnigan ever convince a goddess like Lavender to marry him?" She took another sip of her drink. "And some other things I probably shouldn't say aloud."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, frustrated. "And that actually works? That's the worst line I ever—"

Unfortunately, she had to hold her tongue because whatever 'line' Parkinson used on Lavender worked. She continued to blush and was now grinning like a besotted idiot, leaning into Pansy's touch.

"And now...if I'm right, she'll snap her fingers above her head and call for a bartender," Ginny said.

Within seconds, a bartender appeared.

Hermione huffed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her annoyance. "What will they order Oh-Great-One?"

"Pansy is smart. She always tailors her seduction to a person's interests. For Lavender, I'll assume she wants to spoil her. The opposite of Seamus, who's known for being a stingy bastard." Ginny pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "They'll order two Golden Goblets."

"Golden Goblets?" Hermione snorted. "That doesn't sound sexy."

"No, but it is the most expensive drink on the menu. 42 Galleons each."

Hermione sputtered. "42 Galleons? That's insane."

Ginny shrugged. "There are real gold flakes in the drink or something."

"That's preposterous." Hermione huffed, hoping she didn't sound as petulant as she felt. "And wasteful."

A tense silence spread between them as they waited for the bartender to return with the drinks. Parkinson seemed to make good use of the time and had already draped an arm around Lavender's shoulder. She traced circles on her thigh with her opposite hand. Lavender giggled like an insufferable schoolgirl, which drudged up old painful memories that Hermione did not want to revisit.

Luckily, the bartender showed up with their drinks—two miniature goblets, crafted from gold and embellished with rubies and emeralds. Bugger, Ginny had been right again. It looked like Hermione would be going home 20 Galleons poorer tonight.

"Told you." Ginny gloated.

"Yeah, yeah."

The two girls toasted with their goblets and then drank. Pansy took small, dainty sips, but Lavender gulped it down like water, a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes.

"They'll leave soon," Ginny added. "Unless Lavender wants to have a quickie in the loo."

Hermione tried to ignore the tension that started growing in her gut. Why was watching this little charade bothering her so much? And what was it about Pansy that women found so irresistible? She wasn't _that_ attractive. There was little doubt in her mind that Lavender — husband or not — would not reject her. The deal was almost sealed.

As the two girls finished their drinks, Hermione used the opportunity to study Parkinson. She had to find out what her appeal was.

Besides the sequined shorts, she wore a tight white T-shirt with a plunging neckline. Although Parkinson's breasts were nothing to scoff at — Hermione suspected a respectable B cup — they were far from oversized and her own as well as Lavender's were much larger. A pair of black braces and biker boots completed the look. And—her face was free of makeup except for a striking blood red shade of lipstick; her hair was cut short and layered, long side swept fringe framing her heart-shaped face.

Even though she was more attractive or at least intriguing than she had been during school, Parkinson was not the most attractive woman in the room. She was barely above average, in comparison to some of the willowy blondes she had seen earlier. Hell, even some of the half-naked blokes, grinding on the dance floor were more beautiful than she was.

Yet, there was something about her—a presence that Hermione could not ignore, which had been mesmerizing since she first spotted her earlier. Parkinson had her own unique sense of allure, which like her style was both masculine and feminine, predatory and coy. All Hermione knew was that even though she'd never been attracted to women before, as she watched Parkinson fuss over Lavender, she wished it were her instead.

She wanted her, yearned to know what it would be like to stroke those long legs, to have those lean fingers twist in _her_ hair, and those plump lips brush against her ear.

Holy Merlin Fuck, what was that Pink Panty Dropper cocktail doing to her? These feelings weren't real. She could _not_ be attracted to Pansy Parkinson. She was married. To a man. A handsome man. Or at least a formerly handsome man.

While lost in her thoughts, she didn't even notice that Parkinson and Lavender were no longer by the fake jukebox. "Where did they go?"

Ginny jerked her head towards the exit.

Hermione was almost afraid to look, afraid of the nausea and desire that watching Parkinson leave with Lavender would bring. Yet, she couldn't stop herself. What if it was the last time she ever saw Pansy? She turned and looked.

As she watched them disappear down the dark corridor, walking hand-in-hand, the nausea she had been expecting flared, but so did a familiar urge to tear every single one of those blonde hairs from Lavender's head. What was so bloody great about Lavender Brown anyway?

"Pay up." Ginny said, a giddy smile stretching her lips. "And don't look so glum. Maybe next time Pansy will take you home."

"I'm not." Hermione attempted to keep her expression indifferent and didn't dignify Ginny's rude comment with a response. The truth was it hit too close to home. Instead she said, "I just think it's appalling that Lavender thinks so little of her marriage vows."

Still smiling, Ginny shook her head. "I told you. No one can resist Pansy. She may be a bitch, but she has this way about her—"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Wait a second? Are you saying that you...and... _she_? Is that what that look was about before? Why you know all her moves?"

Ginny nodded. "In the alley out back." She sighed and looked blankly into the crowd, clearly reminiscing. "One of the strongest orgasms I've ever had. She just vanished my knickers with this handy little spell of hers and damn..." She bit down on her lip. "That girl can do more with one finger than most men can with their dicks."

Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. Ginny and Parkinson? In the back alley? Images of Ginny with flushed cheeks moaning against a brick wall, while Parkinson disappeared beneath her skirt flashed through her mind. _That was so...so...demeaning, improper, degrading_ , she tried to convince herself. But no matter how many derogatory terms she equated with the act, it didn't stop the rush of heat accumulating in between her thighs.

"I hope it was one of the times you and Harry were on a break."

Ginny wriggled her eyebrows. "Wouldn't you like to know? Maybe we talk about in the bedroom and get off on it."

Hermione shook her head, amused. "You cheeky bitch."

 **TBC...**

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Good or bad.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Icicle**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Fridays at the Purple Unicorn (2/2)

 **Author:** icicle33

 **Rating:** M

 **Pairing(s):** Pansy/Hermione, past Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Lavender, Hermione/Ron

 **Summary:** Hermione and Ginny have a girl's night out at the Purple Unicorn. Hermione is surprised when she runs into a much changed Pansy Parkinson. " _That girl can do more with one finger than most men can do with their dicks."_

 **Warnings:** Post-War, infidelity, mentions of unfulfilling het sex, **explicit sex and use of sex toys** , some slight Ron bashing that wasn't intentional because I love Ron as a character but was necessary for the story. I just don't think he makes a good match with Hermione.

 **Word Count:** ~10K

 **Author's Notes:** Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed part 1! I hope you enjoy this second and final part. Please heed the warnings.

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 **x o x o**

Later that night, Hermione lay in bed wide-awake, trying to ignore Ron's ghastly snoring and compose her thoughts. Ron had surprised her by coming home early. Or at least his version of early, which meant showing up at 2 am pissed out of his mind and reeking of stale beer, grease, and cheap perfume.

Usually, when he showed up in that state, which was more and more often in the last six months, she made him sleep on the couch. Tonight, however, she was so sexually frustrated and unbelievably turned on that she accepted her husband's sloppy advances. Afterwards, she wanted to die of embarrassment and had no idea what Ron would say in the morning.

She turned around carefully on the bed, making sure her limbs didn't catch the covers and then arranged herself on her side. She studied her husband. He was fast asleep but still held a worried look on his face. His forehead and brow were screwed tight and his chest heaved faster than normal. Either Ron was having another nightmare or their tentative relationship had become so strained that even in sleep he couldn't find proper rest.

She sighed, trying to ignore the profound, despondent feeling that twisted around in her chest—the thought that her frigidity and lack of patience with her husband were the cause of most of their problems. After all, their marriage had not always been terrible. For a bit, it had been great. Or at least _normal_.

Most people thought that Hermione lived a fairy tale life. Ron had been the love of her life since she was a child, the only boy she had ever wanted. By the age of seventeen, they had faced a lifetime of adversities and had somehow survived, become stronger in the end. It took seven _sodding_ years, but Ron finally returned her affections. They had each other and their entire lives ahead of them. Or so she thought.

When he proposed only three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione assumed that the worse was over, that from then on they would build a life together and be _deliriously_ happy. She hadn't considered that even though they knew each other for years, a three month relationship was not a long enough trial period to test the compatibility of their personalities and life goals.

Within a year, she had realised that perhaps loving Ron with all her heart and being loved in return was _not_ enough. They were both as different as wine and beer, and although usually served at the same events, when mixed together in too high of doses, the results were always disastrous.

Without the threat of war and imminent death looming over their heads, or even Harry playing the moderator, Hermione realised that they didn't have a single interest in common. Not even one _bloody_ thing!

Ron lived for Quidditch and beer; he liked pub food and drinking games. He liked sleeping in, goofing around with George or Harry, and was allergic to house work or manual labour of any kind. In front of his friends, who he insisted on hanging out with every weekend, he felt the need to validate his masculinity and challenge all of his mates to inane and childish bets that usually involved eating until someone puked or drinking until blacked out.

Hermione found all these acts disgraceful, but she knew that Ron was grieving for his brother, and if besting his friends in sophomoric displays of machismo helped him cope, then she would accept this obnoxious and unhealthy behaviour. To each his own. Right?

Ron had barely been eighteen at the time, so she assumed it was a phase. She tried to be supportive.

Yet, seven years later he was still engaging in the same behaviour and to some extent it was worse. She knew that it wasn't completely his fault. Working with George was both the best and worst idea that Ron ever had. George had been so destroyed after Fred's death that Hermione was terrified for him. Part of her believed that if Ron hadn't stepped in to take care of his brother, then George wouldn't be here today.

Sadly, Ron's kindness and lack of a strong personality were his downfall. He wanted to please and help his brother so terribly that he went along with everything George wanted, like taking frequent 'business' trips and hosting client meetings at sleazy bars or strip clubs. Their business had been a huge success, but at what cost?

Even after several interventions from Molly and Ginny, George continued to be the most self-destructive person that Hermione knew. It was as if he continuously punished himself for living while his twin perished. Rather than settling down and raising a family like Fred wanted to do, George lived a licentious and hedonistic lifestyle. He used cheap thrills to numb his pain, which Hermione understood. But why did he need to drag Ron down with him too?

She knew that Ron was miserable. Anyone with eyes could see it, but the more Hermione pushed him to quit working with George the more Ron withdrew from her. This last year had been like living with a stranger. Even if she still loved him and probably always would, they'd reached a point in their relationship where things unravelled too far, where they became unfixable.

Ron was broken, spiralling into a deep depression and finding comfort in all the wrong places. She had tried everything to help him, but as much as it killed her to accept this, Ron needed more help than she could provide.

Since he wouldn't open up to her and only seemed content or at least less miserable when he was stuffing his face or pissed out of his mind, like last night, Hermione accepted that he was too far gone. Even sex between them no longer worked. While it never completely fulfilled her, sex used to be tolerable. At least Ron used to enjoy it, but last night she realised that Ron just wasn't what she wanted anymore. She couldn't keep beating herself up for shunning his advances and not making him happy. It wasn't _her_ responsibility to make him happy. The only person she was responsible for was herself.

Tonight, she was so inebriated that for the first time in years, she had an orgasm with Ron. He was so loaded that she took control and fucked herself on his dick, using it like a dildo. It was as if he wasn't even there. She was entirely detached from the act.

Intimacy or even feelings of love never crossed her mind. Rather every time she repeatedly rode him, her mind strayed elsewhere, fantasising about Pansy's long legs and that tight arse of hers, her strong defined shoulders.

Without even pushing herself too hard, she was able to come. Multiple times. Something she had never been able to achieve from intercourse alone.

It was such a freeing yet confusing experience. She had no idea how Ron would react to it in the morning or if he'd even remember. All she knew was that she needed to explore this, put herself and _her_ needs first for a change.

She was positively terrified.

 **x o x o**

The following Friday, Hermione returned to the Purple Unicorn. Ron was away on another trip with George, and this time she hadn't even tried to talk him out of it. She knew that if she went through with her plan of seducing Pansy there was no turning back. Her marriage would be unsalvageable. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to care. She was a Gryffindor on a mission and nothing would stand in her way.

All week she could think of nothing else—and even though Ginny was unable to accompany her this time, since she was travelling for Quidditch, Hermione kept her plan in motion.

Around ten o'clock, she strolled into the Purple Unicorn, skipping the queue out front due to her determination and new dress. Indulging in the latest fashion trends had never been a concern of Hermione's. She always thought there were better uses of her time. But tonight was a special occasion. In a bar full of beautiful women, Hermione needed to catch Pansy's attention. And Slytherins liked shiny things.

The dress code at the Purple Unicorn seemed to imply wear as little as possible. But that wasn't Hermione's style. Instead, she wore a black dress that tastefully accentuated her curves. The dress was long-sleeved and came to her mid-thigh, which was like a ball gown in comparison to the short skirts the other witches wore that barely grazed their arses. The neckline of the dress, however, was plunging, showcasing Hermione's breasts—and two mesh cut outs showed off her slim waist. The saleswitch who helped her had said she'd be a tease in this dress. That was precisely the look she wanted to present.

From what Ginny had said, Pansy liked a challenge, so hopefully seeing her in this dress would have her gagging for it. So far, the dressed had worked on the bouncer.

When she walked inside, she pushed her way through the crowds, walking with her head high and shoulders back, pretending she was just as attractive and sexy as the other scantily clad witches. She didn't actually feel as confident as she was acting, so she went straight to the bar to get some liquid confidence. Henry was working again and helped her out with two double shots of firewhiskey.

The firewhiskey burned her throat and unsettled her stomach, but it was preferable to drinking several cocktails. Hermione didn't have any time to waste. She needed to find Pansy before she lost her nerve or went home with someone else.

After thanking Henry for the drinks, she worked her way through the crowd again, avoiding the overcrowded dance floor and looked for Pansy.

When she didn't find her, Hermione grew uneasy. Was she too late? Had Pansy already left with her new toy for the evening? It was still early, so she doubted that were true.

She didn't know if the firewhiskey was already hitting her, or perhaps she had spent too many nights this week fantasising about Parkinson not to actually experience the real thing, but Hermione — the girl who usually hated debaucherous behaviour of any kind — decided she needed to dance on a table. It was her best bet to find Pansy and gain her attention.

Dancing on a table, though, wouldn't be enough. She needed to make herself desirable so Parkinson would see her as a challenge and come claim her. Slytherins liked their games.

She looked around and noticed two incredibly pissed blondes staggering next to the bar.

 _Perfect_ , she thought. Using her most flirtatious smile, she complimented the two girls on their outfits and then asked them to dance. When they started heading to the dance floor, Hermione told them that they were much too beautiful to dance in a crowd, that bodies like theirs deserved to be put on display, a pedestal. She cringed at the lies escaping from her lips, but the two blondes, Mandy and Kate, were too drunk to notice.

They climbed on top of the table and stared dancing with each other. The shorter blonde grinded in front of the taller one. As soon as Hermione joined them, she shoved her way in the middle and had one girl dancing on each side of her, both of them brushing up against her.

This was probably the maddest and daftest thing that Hermione had ever done. She wanted to scream at her idiocy, but she needed to play it cool, to pretend she wanted both girls. Over and over, she kept reminding herself that she was a Gryffindor and that she was brave. Dancing on a table was nothing in comparison to riding a dragon or facing Voldemort. Her heart hadn't received the message though because it was pounding against her chest so heavily that Hermione was afraid she would pass out.

Luckily, finding Pansy was easy. Once she was on the table, she took a quick glance around and located Pansy in that secluded corner where she had been last time. _Bollocks,_ Hermione thought. Why didn't she think to look there first before climbing onto a table and making a fool of herself?

Still, it appeared that she made an acceptable choice. By the time one song ended, she noticed that Pansy had abandoned her corner and was standing within eyesight. When she locked eyes with her, Hermione wanted to cry out, to yell thank Merlin and jump off the table. But Pansy liked to play games and she couldn't give in too soon.

Even though she'd noticed Pansy watching her, Hermione pretended that Pansy was invisible. She continued dancing on the table and made sure to focus her attention on Kate and Mandy. Ignoring Pansy would only make her want Hermione more. She was certain of it.

For an entire second song, she ignored Pansy and pretended she was having the time of her life. She wanted to continue dancing for a bit longer. Torturing Parkinson was fun, who had now parked herself in front of the table. But after the second song, Mandy and Kate wanted to get down. They were dizzy and Hermione had no choice but to follow.

As soon as she stepped off the table, Parkinson grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into a dark corner. She leant her against the wall, blocking her path to escape, not that Hermione wanted to leave in the slightest.

"Pansy?" Hermione asked, fluttering her eyelashes and pretending to be surprised. She decided that calling Pansy by her first name was important. Only her friends called her that, so it showed a certain level of intimacy that Hermione was not afraid of building.

"Granger, I didn't expect to see you here."

Hermione smiled, trying not to show her fear and discomfort. "I come here all the time."

Pansy smirked and didn't call her out on the lie. "We'll, I'm glad you're here."

"That makes two of us," Hermione answered smoothly. "And call me, Hermione."

Pansy smirked again and then looked her over, her eyes roaming over her entire body. "Hot dress."

"Thank you." Hermione tried not to blush.

"Where's your other half?"

"The Harpies are away this week."

Pansy arched an eyebrow and widened her eyes. "I meant _your_ Weasley." She furrowed her brow. "Roland? I think it is."

Hermione gulped. She had not been expecting that question and this time she felt a familiar heat creep across her cheeks. She needed to hide her embarrassment and couldn't let Pansy get under her skin.

"Does it matter?" Hermione tried to use that same bored tone Slytherins always used. "We're _not_ attached at the hip."

Pansy laughed. "I guess not." She reached out and touched Hermione's hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Hermione almost gasped from the contact, from having her so incredibly close. She didn't know what it was about Pansy, but something about her reduced her to a quivering pile of mush. She couldn't ever remember feeling this out of breath about Ron.

"I think I misjudged you, Granger. Can I get you a drink?"

Hermione frowned. "I'll pass on the drink. And it's Hermione. Granger isn't even—"

But she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Pansy pushed her up against the wall and kissed her. Hard. Hermione dreamt about this for days now, wondering what type of kisser Pansy would be. If she would kiss soft and sensuous or hard and forceful. It turned out that she was wrong on both accounts. Her kiss was forceful but passionate, completely in tune with Hermione's mouth, only deepening the kiss when Hermione allowed it.

She knew that she should push Pansy away and protest. It was too soon to give in. She had just told Pansy that she didn't want a drink but was now letting her snog her. Hermione could not resist though. She was lightheaded and dizzy. If she weren't against a wall, her knees would have buckled.

Kissing Ron had _never_ felt like this.

When they finally pulled apart, Hermione groaned at the loss of contact. Before she could respond, Pansy grabbed her arm. "Hold on tight."

The familiar tug of Apparition jostled her stomach.

 **x o x o**

A white leather couch broke her fall. Hermione tumbled on top of it and became tangled in a silk purple throw.

When she sat up, she realised she was in Pansy's flat. The living room was bright and wide, possibly larger than Hermione and Ron's first flat. All the furniture was made from expensive white leather and a marble fireplace stood in the far corner, lighting the room.

There were shelves and shelves of books, enough to be considered a small library. An antique desk stood in the corner and tasteful abstract art lined the walls. This flat was not what she expected, but all the same, she felt at home.

"Alright there, Granger?" Pansy asked. "Your mouth's been hanging open for ages. I didn't notice Splinching you?"

Hermione tensed at Pansy's light, flirtatious tone. Everything was a game to this girl. "No, I'm fine. But what are we doing here?"

"I thought we should move somewhere a bit more private." She stood from the couch, smoothed her shorts out and then tugged on Hermione's arm. "I need you in my bedroom." Her dark eyes lit up. " _Now_."

Hermione rose from the couch, but then tore her arm out of Pansy's grasp. "Stop it." She narrowed her eyes. "Usually, it's customary to ask someone before you Apparate them away. You could have killed us. And—how do you even know I want this?"

Pansy tilted her head back, releasing a bitter chuckle, her dark locks bouncing and revealing the pale perfect skin of her neck. Hermione had to remind herself to act angry and not stare.

"All your limbs are intact. _Don't_ overreact." Pansy walked over to Hermione and stroked a hand down her cheek. Hermione gulped. "You must think I'm stupid. I saw the way you were looking at me tonight, the hungry glimpses you sent my way when you thought I wasn't looking. The disappointment on your face last week when I left with Brown." Pansy dropped her hand from Hermione's face and started tracing a line down her neck so slowly and seductively that Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe. She swept two fingers down the contours of her neck, moving lower and lower until she skimmed the top of her breasts. "You're gagging for it."

"That's—"

"Don't try to deny it." Pansy leant in closer and pressed a kiss on the corner of Hermione's mouth. Then she whispered in her ear. "I'll let you in on a secret. I am _too_." Her breath was hot against Hermione's ear, sending shivers down her neck. "I've wanted you since I first saw you last week." She paused for a moment, the intensity of her eyes hadn't faded and then wrapped her fingers around Hermione's wrist, her nails short and painted black. "No more games."

There were so many things that Hermione wanted to say, so many thoughts racing through her mind. But her mouth was dry. Instead, she looked down at their hands, savouring the way Pansy's fingers continued to encircle her wrist.

She nodded.

 **x o x o**

Strong arms shoved her on top of a large four-poster bed. The sheets were silk and smelt of lavender. Without a word, Pansy pulled her top over her head and Hermione's eyes widened at the sight of her breasts. Pansy hadn't worn a bra underneath her shirt and Hermione had no idea how her breasts managed to look so perky. While Hermione continued to ogle, Pansy removed her black shorts and tossed them aside, revealing a pair of lace purple knickers.

Hermione felt a desperate need to reach out and touch Pansy, to pull her closer. She grabbed Pansy by her slim waist and started ravishing her, tangling her fingers in her dark locks and kissing her neck. Any lingering doubts that she wanted this fled her mind.

She had an urge to taste this beautiful woman. Ron always tasted salty, his body completely covered in sweat, freckles, and hair. There was something tantalising about Pansy's soft, blemish-free skin. She licked a trail down Pansy's neck, savouring the sweetness and inhaling the floral undertones of her perfume. A small moan escaped from her throat and Pansy took the opportunity to push Hermione off her.

"Not so fast there, Granger."

"Why not?"

She whimpered, desperation written all over her face, hoping that Pansy would understand that she needed this. Right now. No more games had been Pansy's words not hers. She wanted to ravish Pansy and possibly even fuck her.

Pansy ignored the question. "Have you ever _done_ this before?" Her voice was deep and sultry. "Been with a _woman_?"

Slowly, Hermione shook her head.

"I didn't think so." Her expression softened, her dark eyes holding a hint of vulnerability. "Men—" She leant in as if she were whispering a precious secret."Are clueless when it comes to women. You can't blame them since we're so much more complicated than they are." She stopped for a second and wet her lips. "I'd bet anything that your idiot husband doesn't know how to please you. Mine certainly doesn't."

Hermione creased her forehead but didn't respond.

"There's a point to my madness, Granger, just go with it."

She rolled her eyes. Apparently, Pansy wanted to continue calling her Granger just to spite her.

"You're a control freak. _Don't_ try to deny it. If you could control every aspect of everyone's lives around you...you would."

"That's hardly fair—"

"Can you listen for one sodding minute?"

Hermione scoffed.

"Just for tonight...I want you to relax. I want you to relinquish complete control to _me_. Let me take care of you." Hermione shuddered. "If you give in, I'll help you reach an entirely new level of bliss."

"Look, Pansy, I like you, but I'm not certain I'm ready for whatever kinky Slytherin games you have in mind." She pursed her lips. "Do you want to tie me up or something?"

Pansy snorted. "Oh, you're not definitely not ready for that. Although I wouldn't mind saving that for round two." She arched an eyebrow and leered. "Right now, all I wanna do is warm you up. But—I'm in charge. No touching, grabbing, or kissing of any kind. Just lie back and enjoy."

She leant forward and pressed another kiss on Hermione's lips, nibbling her bottom lip.

"I promise that I can make you scream so loud that you'll forget your name. Trust me, I have references."

Hermione gasped; she was much too shocked to respond.

"Please," Pansy moaned, "let me do this for you, Her-mi-one." She said Hermione's name as if it was sexiest thing she had ever heard. These Slytherins knew how to make anything, even an unusual name like Hermione, sound erotic.

"Alright."

She wasn't certain why she agreed so readily. Normally, Hermione liked to be in charge of sexual activity. At least she always was with Ron. All week she had been fantasising about pinning Pansy down and kissing her, exploring every inch of her body with her tongue. She didn't know Pansy well enough to trust her, but the dreamy look and blush that crept down Ginny's face when she remembered Pansy fucking her in the alley forced her to reconsider. She wanted this too.

"I haven't wanted someone so much in ages." Pansy blew into her ear, her breath hot and much too tantalising. "I've been dreaming of fucking you all week."

Hermione closed her eyes, her breath hitching. Pansy's words made her flush, a heat forming between her thighs.

Pansy grinned, her dark eyes shining with lust. "Lay back," she instructed, "get comfortable, and _relax_."

When Hermione didn't oblige, soft hands grabbed her, circling her wrists and bringing her close. Hermione gasped and Pansy entwined her hands within her hair, her fingertips caressing Hermione's scalp. Pansy kissed her and not one of the soft, chaste kisses of earlier, but a real passionate snog. A heady, staggering rush hit Hermione again as Pansy kissed her with no inhibitions, putting all her pent up frustration into the kiss and holding nothing back.

When Pansy finally released her, Hermione gasped and rested her forehead against Pansy's. Her heart hammered inside her chest so loudly that she was certain Pansy could hear it.

"Pansy—"

"No more talking." She pinned Hermione's wrists behind her head and locked eyes with her. "If you don't follow my rules, I'll be forced to tie you down. _Don't_ test me."

With a quick unfamiliar spell, she vanished all of Hermione's clothing except for her knickers. She let her finger tease the waistband of her knickers before removing them too.

"You won't need those either. Just close your eyes and think of whatever gets you off...that freckled husband of yours, Potter..." She paused for a second. "Me?"

"You," Hermione breathed. "Last week, I rode my husband's cock and thought of you the entire time."

"Really?" Pansy shuffled to the corner of the bed and opened her nightstand. "In that case...then we'll try something a little different. If you like riding cock, then I have just the thing for you." She smirked. "Congratulations, you've just been promoted to the advanced class, Granger."

Pansy pulled out a huge, oddly shaped purple vibrator from her nightstand. It was far larger than Ron's penis. She scowled. This was not what she had in mind. At all. Ginny had said that Pansy was more talented with her fingers than most blokes. If that were true, then why use the vibrator? She shuddered. Toys were taking things a little too far. Ron and her never used any toys.

Pansy must have noticed the uncertainty in her eyes. "Trust me."

Even though Hermione felt her heart racing even faster and her palms started to sweat, she nodded and closed her eyes. She had no idea how that would fit...it was bloody huge, but she had agreed and would not back down.

Hermione expected pain. She assumed that Pansy would shove the vibrator into her cunt roughly, jamming it in there repeatedly until she could force Hermione to come.

That's not what happened. Hermione winced in anticipation of the large, cold object, but instead was surprised by the feel of soft, warm fingers.

"Relax."

Pansy inserted her long, nimble fingers — in and out of Hermione — up and down —each time deeper and massaging. She also kneaded Hermione's breasts with her free hand. "Merlin, you have fucking gorgeous breasts, Granger."

Hermione let out a deep moan and bit down on her lip, trying to contain the heat that was spreading down her body, causing her to tremble.

"Feels good doesn't it?" Pansy's voice was sultry and Hermione imagined how wicked her face must look. "You're already so wet. I bet Weasley can't get you soaked like this. He probably doesn't even know where you g-spot is."

She kept this up for several minutes, at first her pace slow, but gradually speeding up. Hermione was frantic, trying to stay still and not jerk her hips into every motion, but her body betrayed her, her pussy becoming wetter by the second.

"You like this, don't you?" Pansy taunted. "You like it that I'm fucking your cunt with my fingers. You're a _little slut,_ you know that? And so fucking gorgeous." Her voice became breathy. "Weasley doesn't deserve you. He has no idea how fucking lucky he is."

Hermione bit down on her lip, hard, tasting blood in her mouth. She whimpered, begging Pansy to continue.

"Don't worry, the fun is only beginning."

She removed her fingers and Hermione groaned, protesting at the loss of contact, but before she could complain further, Pansy thrust the vibrator into her. She thought that it would be cold, but it wasn't. It was warm, not as warm as Pansy's fingers, but comfortably so, and it was huge, much larger than she imagined, splitting through her and sending a burst of discomfort down her spine.

"Gah—"

"Relax," Pansy said, her voice soft but full of lust. "Shhh."

Hermione exhaled and tried to heed Pansy's advice. It wasn't that the vibrator was still painful, because it wasn't. It was just so thick, thicker than any cock she had ever had between her legs. At first, it felt uncomfortable, but as Pansy kept slipping it in and out, the awkwardness subsided and switched into pleasure. With every stroke, it felt as if the vibrator was caressing her G-spot, brushing by her clit, as if teasing her. Sex with Ronald had never felt like this.

Finally, she relaxed, completely gave in.

"More," Hermione cried, "More!"

Her body betrayed her again. The wetness spreading through her legs increased, causing her to shudder. Her back arched in anticipation of every movement and the thrill of pleasure became more prominent. Each time Pansy inserted the vibrator deeper and harder, making sure to slow down and rub up against her clit right before entering, and then she used her other hand to tickle Hermione's clit. It made Hermione go mad, made her plead for Pansy to go harder.

"If you insist," Pansy drawled, never stopping from fucking her and then picked up the pace. She also dropped her head between Hermione's thighs, Pansy's tongue now circling her clit.

Hermione gasped, her entire body felt as if it were vibrating now. Oh, dear God. Ron had never been this good with his tongue. Most of the time, he avoided the task completely. This was just _too_ much. She didn't have words to describe it.

Hermione didn't know how long she lay there with her eyes closed, muttering incoherent thoughts. All she knew was that her entire body tingled, painfully so. A cold sweat streamed down her back, her back arching off the bed, toes curling. She did the only thing she could do and grabbed onto the headboard in an attempt to steady herself. Thank Merlin Pansy had a sturdy wooden frame.

The pain pulsated throughout her body, her entire body on fire and trembling. She was gasping, her chest tightening, and just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, when she was about to push Pansy off while screaming in desperation—her mind became so muddled that she could barely remember her own name. And then the pain subsided. It was replaced by a cool, heady sensation, flushing through her body as if exalting her. Hermione came again and again, her whole body exploding in orgasm harder and louder than she ever had in her life.

When she'd finally caught her breath, Hermione said, "Oh my god."

Pansy rewarded her with a smug look. "And that was just round one."

 **x o x o**

Three rounds later, Hermione was spent. She could barely move a muscle but knew it was time to go home. She took a deep breath and pushed herself up, sitting up in bed and trying to ignore the wave of dizziness that overcame her.

This night had been better than anything she had fantasised. After pleasing her repeatedly, Pansy gave Hermione the chance to take her own turn and explore Pansy's body. She was kinder about the whole experience than Hermione had imagined, telling her she only had to go as far as she was comfortable. Of course, Hermione was an eager student and wanted to try it all. This might be her only experience with Pansy, so she didn't want any regrets. Since Pansy seemed knackered as well, she was proud of herself. It was too bad that the night had to end.

She started to rise from the bed when Pansy pulled her back. "Where are you going?"

Hermione tilted her head back and blinked. "Home. It's getting late, so I'll get out of your way." Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew this was just sex. No strings attached. Pansy took a different girl home every night. They never spent the night.

"Stay." Pansy pulled her closer and wrapped her arms around Hermione's waist. "We can have another lesson in the morning. You're quickly moving to the top of the class."

Hermione sighed. It would be so easy to stay here, to avoid her empty bed at home. But she wasn't sure if she could handle the consequences. If she stayed, it would make the situation _real_. The fantasy would be broken, replaced with the harsh reality. She was a desperate, confused woman, who cheated on her husband.

Pansy must have noticed her hesitation because she kissed her.

"Trust me, I'll make it worth your while." She fluttered her eyelashes.

 _Damn_ , Hermione thought. She couldn't resist that innocent look, those insanely long lashes. All the guilt she felt could wait until tomorrow. She hoped that staying over wouldn't be a mistake.

"Okay."

Pansy released her and then lay back on her pillow. She motioned for Hermione to join her. Once she did, she wrapped her legs and arms around her, her breasts and slim hips, pressing against Hermione's back. Hermione released another sigh. This was dangerous territory. She could get used to this—sleeping next to Pansy after hours of mind-blowing sex. She closed her eyes and tried to savour the moment.

Tomorrow she'd have to return to her real life. She'd have to go home and face her husband and the inevitable dissolution of their marriage. After a morning shag, there was also a good chance that Pansy might never want to see her again—that she'd just move onto her next conquest.

The idea of Pansy moving onto another girl sent a deep pang to her chest. Still, there was no sense in worrying about it now. If she learnt anything at all tonight, it was that she needed to relax and live in the moment. At least once in a while. If Pansy didn't want to see her again, then she'd deal with it when the time came.

For now, she wanted to enjoy the smoothness and warmth of her arms and legs around her.

As she drifted off to sleep, she decided that Friday nights were no longer for staying in and reading. Even if Pansy gave her the cold shoulder in the morning, Hermione could seduce her again.

It looked like Fridays at the Purple Unicorn would become her new tradition.

 **FIN**

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 **A/N: Thanks so much for reading! This was a blast to write. I'd really love to hear your thoughts good or bad. Look out for more stories from me soon.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Icicle**


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